The Golden Ticket Has Arrived

Next weekend the wife and I are heading to Vegas for a weekend vacation.  While there, we will eat dinner at E, a foodie mecca created by the international superchef, Jose Andres.  (The e, by the way, has an accent aigu on it--as does the 'e' in 'Andres.'  I can't make the accent appear on this interface, however).

Because I want the experience to be a surprise, I have purposefully tried to keep myself from learning too much about the food they serve at E.  I know its inspiration is essentially Spanish, and I know that it's a redoubt of molecular gastronomy.  Other than that, I'm a blank.

Still, I know its reputation (otherwise, why plan a trip to Vegas to eat there?) E is discussed on food websites in the same tone I imagine Spanish conquistadors must have once used when talking about Cibola.  E, in fact, is not even really a "restaurant"; it's really a single room hidden inside another restaurant (Jaleo, a tapas place in the Cosmopolitan).  It only has room for eight people in it, so it only has two servings per night.  A meal lasts about three hours; it's mostly single bites (as I understand it) and comprises about 15-20 courses.  Obviously the food is said to be sublime.   Andres trained under Ferran Adria, the genius madman behind El Bulli, the restaurant most foodies consider to be the best in the world.  (Considered, I should say: El Bulli closed for good last fall.  Apparently now the best restaurant in the world is in Norway.  Or Denmark?  But I digress).

To get a reservation at E, I had to stay up till midnight on the day exactly one month before the night we wanted to go, and send an email requesting a reservation.  Once we got the reservations we were sent, in the mail, our golden ticket.  So, next Saturday, the 25th, I'll hand our ticket to the hostess at Jaleo and be invited into one of the inner sanctums of American eatery.  It should be quite something.  Any damn restaurant that sends you a golden ticket in the mail--that's one I support.